


Consider This

by Stephano_The_Swords_Women



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America: Civil War (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Dissociation, Hacking, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hope y'all know that this?, I'm not good with writing conversations so good luck ;), Idiots in Love, Lemme add that REAL quick, Like hard core Abuse, M/M, Mention Brain Washing, Mention abuse, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Oh also, Saw that and can i @Tony right now, This shit right here?, Very AU, Wasn't supposed to exist chapter 2 is a fUCKING SCAM, anyway Winter is awkward, but not graphic, does it count if it's your own brain?, duh - Freeform, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephano_The_Swords_Women/pseuds/Stephano_The_Swords_Women
Summary: Consider this.The Winter Soldier isn’t loyal to Hydra. He doesn’t know what loyalty is, what it means, what it feels like. They call him a dog, yap, yap, yapping at the heels of his handlers (of his owners), but what is a dog without loyalty? And after every wipe (he knows there’s been more than one, he knows) he is brainwashed into being a weapon, (a gun that they shoot and shoot until the clips empty and then they just pop out the clip and insert a new one, same gun new person) but not a loyal one.And one day he knows, rather this wipe or the next or five after, that he will finally be able to shoot the hand that aims him. He knows this as he knows he isn’t loyal fo Hydra.For a dog without loyalty, but a desperate need for freedom, is a wolf collared with a rusty chain.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Winter Soldier/Tony Stark
Comments: 47
Kudos: 308





	1. Chapter 1

Consider this.

The Winter Soldier isn’t loyal to Hydra. He doesn’t really know what loyalty is, what it means, what it  _ feels _ like. They call him a dog, yap, yap, yapping at the heels of his handlers  _ (of his owners) _ , but what is a dog without loyalty? And after every wipe  _ (he knows there’s been more than one, he  _ **_knows_ ** _ ) _ he is brainwashed into being a weapon, ( _ a gun that they shoot and shoot until the clips empty and then they just pop out the clip and insert a new one, same gun new person _ )but not a loyal one  


And one day he knows, rather this wipe or the next or 5 after, that he will finally be able to shoot the hand that aims him. He knows this as he knows he isn’t loyal fo Hydra.

For a dog without loyalty but a fierce need for freedom is a wolf collared with a rusty chain.

* * *

Consider this.

Bucky Barnes was extremely smart, the best sniper in his time, a mathematician in his own right. And so it is right to assume the Winter Soldier is just as smart, if not a little smarter. He is cunning and cold and smart, so he waits.  _ (He is a man unshackled with the weights of loyalty, of morals, a mind like an abused wolf, sharp and quick and  _ **_bloodthirsty_ ** _ ) _ Winter doesn’t remember his days of Before, he knows he has them, because why would they sit him in the Chair, but he doesn’t remember anything concrete. No feelings or anything hazy. Just a vague sense of something being there that he can’t reach.

But of all the things Winter is, patience is so far his best quality. So he waits. He stops fighting as hard to get out, and in turn, Hydra’s wipes get more and more spread out. So he watches them, the scientists who don’t believe in anesthesia, the soldiers who believe themselves superior, and his Handlers who think they own him.

Winter may not know what loyalty feels like, but he can guess what Freedom tastes like and—

Oh, how he hungers.

* * *

_ (Need Mission Parameters. Need Mission Parameters. Need Missi- New Mission: Be Free. Mission Accepted. Mission Parameters: Eliminates All Targets in the Hydra Base, No Hydra Communication To Outside, Take Supplies, Leave. Mission Active Now) _

* * *

Consider this.

One day when Winter has watched and watched like a wolf peaking behind a snowy hill, when he has learned how to take care of his arm from watching the doctors, and how to blend in from the soldiers, and how to kill from the Handlers, he escapes. He swiftly kills every Hydra agent in the building, he takes what he needs, and he escapes.

Hydra gluttoned themselves on their apparent victory over him and the ones outside, complacent in the way they handle him.

He hasn’t been wiped in a year.

Winter kills the Hydra base with ease, his “betrayal” a surprise to everyone but him. He walks into the harsh Russian snow, the cold barely bothering him as he is used to the bone-deep cyro that he once lived in. He walks into the snow, belly, and mind filled with Freedom.

He can almost hear the rusty chain collar clink as it falls to the snow, red not just with rust and his own desperate blood, but with victory as he leaves his prison behind.

He is free in a sense, and he has no idea what to do. 

* * *

_ (Mission: Be Free, Success. New Mission: Find Shelter. Mission Accepted. Mission Parameters: Find Abandoned Town, Find Library.) _

* * *

Consider this.

He lives in an abandoned apartment, in a vacant town. Killed off by the snow, wildlife, or both. He is miles away from any Hydra base, and so he is in his apartment thinking. Planning.

What do you do with Freedom? Winter has never had so many choices offered to him before, what should he eat? Wear? Have?

He decides to make it simple and wear black, eat blandly, and have what’s needed. Winter is still cold, still slightly brainwashed, and still not loyal.

He is lost in this new Freedom, no purpose. No, path in his now Free life.

* * *

_ (Mission Success. New Mission: Understand Freedom. Mission Accepted. Mission Parameters: Read Books, Fix TV System -Side Mission: Find Book About TV. Mission Accepted.-, Find Food.) _

* * *

Consider this.

He fixes a broken small tv he found a floor below, hooks it up to the still running electricity, and watched the only channel available.

The news.

He watches and he learns, about the way civilians live, the way they think, morals and the such.

He learns and decides he wants that.

He wants what they have.

Winter doesn’t know this, but this is the first thing he actually wants.

Freedom he needed, like air and water, but morals? No, that’s something he wants.

And so he heads out into the small town with its small library, and he reads.

And reads.

And reads.

* * *

_ (Mission Partially Success. Mission Still Active: Freedom. New Mission: Morals. Mission Accepted. Mission Parameters: Read Books on Morals, Watch TV, Find Out More About Superheroes -Side Note: The Avengers-. ) _

* * *

Consider this.

Winter isn’t Bucky Barnes, he has half filmy memories from Before, laughter and light and warmth. No faces, no voices, no names. 

Winter isn’t Bucky, but he still hunts down Hydra. In his path to find something he wants, he decides that Hydra is bad. As he learned they tortured him, and according to his books on morals, that is bad. 

According to him and what he thinks, that is bad. Winter has grown, grown so much from what he used to be, from what he was made to be.

Sometimes he looks in the broken mirror in his broken apartment and he can’t stand the face that stares back. He’s no Bucky Barnes but he isn’t really a person either, still thinking linear thoughts that show themselves like orders and mission statements. 

Even with his mission statement tented thoughts and crisp order like sentences, Winter wants to be good. He wants to be good so, so much. He wants to be like Iron Man, Black Window, HawkEye, he wants to be good.

In a childlike manner, innocent in a way he never was, Winter copies the teachings of the books to heart, killing is wrong but Hydra is bad, so this is ok. 

This is ok.

Winter is still a ghost, still barely known to anyone, even those in Hydra. So taking down base after base is easy when the blueprints to everything copied down in his brain.

* * *

_ (Mission Partially Success. Mission Still Active: Freedom. Mission Success. New Mission: Likes. Mission Accepted. Mission Parameters: Find Things I Am Partial Too -Side Note: Clothing, Food, Sleeping Position, Animals, Color, Time of Day/Night, Books-.  _ _  
_ _ New Mission: Hydra. Mission Accepted. Mission Parameters: Destroy Hydra, DO NOT BE RECAPTURED, Eliminate Bases, Do Not Be Seen, Eliminate All Targets.) _

* * *

Consider this.

Winter has a well-worn morals book that he keeps on him at all times, the cover is slightly bent but every page is still pristine. He reads it over and over and over again, a personal bible that he worships in his own way.

He reads it when he wakes up, he reads it when he stakes out, he reads it while he eats. The Winter Soldier learns what love is, as he loves this book.

He has read every book in the very small library twice over, from fiction to fact he knows what each book is about. He has learned he likes math textbooks, hates drama books, and loves romance. Psychology and Sociology (as few of them as they are) help him learn how to help himself.

He doesn’t now if Before him likes Romance books or math books, he doesn’t know if he is like Before him. For once the thought of that doesn’t make him feel nauseous.

* * *

Consider this.

Winter has never had anything soft in his life. He is used to rough hands, sharp needles, cold steel.

So when he moves into his new apartment, with its sparse blankets, an old pillow, and two worn blue scarfs leftover from when the last residents left, he doesn’t know what to do. The blankets are warm in a way he never is, his arm’s heating system only good enough to keep the arm functional, the soft inner is fluffy in what he imagines clouds feel like. 

The pillow is lumpy and yellowish, but when he lays his head on it he feels as if it is the best luxury. More often then not the pillow is used to lay his arm on it, the lumps just right to support his arm and elevate it without making Winter uncomfortable. When he first sleeps like this he awakes with his shoulder only slightly sore instead of in  _ (to anyone else, he remembers to think, I am different and that is ok ) _ agonizing pain.

The two scarfs are a baby blue, holy at the ends and obviously handcrafted. It’s thick and softer than the blankets and he cries silently when he first touches them, rubbing them in his hands, his face, his arms. He wraps one around his metal arm, covering it as his uniform has no sleeve there. It keeps the metal warmer than normal, still cold but not as cold, not as painful. The other goes around his neck and up to his nose, the ends tucked inside snugly. He doesn’t take them off unless to shower, eat, or wash his clothing.

(He buries the mask, and as he covers it with dirt he feels inexpiably lighter)

Winter for the first time in his life isn’t in constant pain, he doesn’t know what to do with this relief, with this new way of life.

* * *

_ (Mission Partially Success. Mission Still Active: Freedom. Mission Partially Success. Mission Still Active: Hydra. Mission Sucess. No New Mission.) _

* * *

Consider this.

Eventually, Winter has to leave. He runs out of food and he has stayed in one place long enough. He packs up and heads to another town.

Moscow is very popular. He is homeless in a sense. No credentials and never working a “real” job before leaves him homeless. He is okay with that though, he has his books (his moral one, two favorite math books, and pretty much every romance book he could fit), the suitcase he found in an old house, his blanket, and lumpy pillow, and both baby blue scarves.

He finds himself living under a bridge, other homeless people flocking to his dangerous aura that keeps the thugs away.

For the first time, Winter has found himself, friends.  _ (What are friends? How do you know you have them? How do you make them? More Research needed.) _

* * *

The homeless know that Winter isn’t normal, for one who names their child Winter? And two, no one carries that many knives and guns on their person. But he’s sweet in his own way, teaching them how to handle a knife without them asking, sharing the half-broken game board he found with the rest of them.

He’s kind if not a little weird. The quirks he has are bizarrely funny in the face of his monotone being. The morals book a 10-year-old kid, brave girl that one, asked him about it.

“I want to be good. Good people have morals. I am learning.”  _ (It’s ok to not be perfect, he reads, it’s ok to not know, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’-) _

Was the answer, baffling in its simplicity. And the way he rubbed his hands on his scarves when wearing them, “I’ve never felt anything as soft before, I’m not used to cloth like this.”, the romance novels he reads in the open “I enjoy the emotions explained in them, they have taught me much in the way of human interaction.” And even the way he only wore blue and black.

Winter was weird, but he was kind, he was honest, and he was kinds sweet, in a “wild wolf who decided to befriend” you kind of way.

* * *

But as the universe turned and the stars shone, the ultimate truth that all good things must end came into play eventually. Inevitably.

_ (Mission Partially Success. Mission Still Active: Freedom. Mission Partially Success. Mission Still Active: Hydra. Mission Sucess. No New Mission. No New Mission For A Long Time. No Longer Need Missions? No LOngGEr NNNEd=ed MmMissiiNssssssjnnnnn44n432-  _

_ \--Manual Shut Down Activated _

_ 1 _

_ 2 _

_ 3 _

_ \--Reboot Activated. _

_ 1 _

_ 2 _

_ 3 _

_ \--Loading _

_ \--Loading _

_ \--Loading _

_ \--Success _

_ \--Password Needed _

_ ********| _

_ \--Wrong Password _

_ \--Password Needed _

_ \-- . . . . .| _

_ \-- _ **_PASSWORD OVERRIDE SUCCESSFUL_ **

_ \--Winter_Soilder Online _

_ \--Select File C_Od_e--NAM_EES? _

_ \--  _ yes|

_ \--File C_Od_e--NAM_EES Selected _

_ \--Delete File? _

_ \--  _ yes|

\--  **_ERROR ERROR UNABLE TO DELETE FILE_ ** _ C_Od_e--NAM_ESS _

\--  **_FILE ONLY ACCESSIBLE BY HANDLERS_ **

\-- . . . . . . .|

\-- . . . . . . . .|

\-- . . . . . . . . . . . |

\-- **_OVERRIDE SUCCESSFUL FILE_** _C_Od_e--NAM_ESS_ ** _DELETED_**

_ \--Select File MIS_sion_S _

_ \--  _ yes|

\--  _ File MIS_sion_S Selected _

_ \-- Delete File? _

_ \-- _ yes|

\--  **_ERROR ERROR UNABLE TO DELETE FILE_ ** _ MIS_sion_S _

\--  **_FILE ONLY ACCESSIBLE BY HANDLERS AND TECHNICIAN_ **

\-- . . . . . . . . . |

\-- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |

\-- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |

\-- **_FILE OVERRIDE FAILED_ **

\-- . . . . . . . . . . . . |

\--. . . . .|

\--  **_OVERRIDE SUCCESSFUL FILE_ ** _ MIS_sion_S  _ **_DELETED_ **

\-- _ Upload File FFRE_DDOMM? _

_ \--  _ yes|

\-- _ File Uploaded _

_ \--  _ **_DOWNLOADING FILE_ **

_ \-- 20% _

_ \-- 55% _

_ \--89% _

_ \--100% _

_ \--  _ **_FILE DOWNLOADED_ **

\-- _ Updates Manually Activated _

\-- _ Shutting Down _

\-- _ Rebooting _

_ 1 _

_ 2 _

_ 3 _

\--  _ Reboot Succcccccccccc _

.

.

.

Mission no longer needed. Freedom found.

* * *

Consider this.

Sheild finds him, eventually.

Threatening the homeless friends  _ (family? What is a family? How do you consider someone family, when do you know, how do you know? Is it the burning in your chest that feels like a dying star when they are hurt? Is it the clenching of your toes and the crinkling of your eyes when they make you laugh?) _ he gained, he packed his bag, left a knife with the brave 12-year-old girl who so long ago asked him questions about his books, and left quietly with the Black Widow and her agents.

They handcuffed him, stripped him of every weapon the could find  _ (except, except he was never un-armed was he, a hand made of metal, a mind sharp like a blade and as fast as a bullet, was he ever really un-armed? If there was one thing Hydra was good at it was making good weapons, Winter could admit to that.) _ and had him watched as they went through his belongings.

Black widow commented on everything she finds, from scarves to books she had something to say.

“Scarves?” “I was not allowed pleasure items.”  _ (He remembers the ice and the freezing chair that turned hot then cold then hot then cold with every flick of the switch, he remembers the pain of scratchy cloth against his too sensitive skin, he remembers and he wants something better. What a novel concept. Wanting. Winter likes it. He hopes they let him continue) _

“Math?” “I enjoy it. It is simple and familiar.”  _ (He has flashes sometimes, just little snippets of leaning on a tree branch, sniper in hand, doing wind speed and velocity math, just so he could shoot a man 3 miles away. He remembers little broken sentences of teachers, parents maybe, a friend, praising him for his skills. It was the first thing that came, the first thing that is easy to remember.) _

“Romance?” “I do not understand emotions.”  _ (It’s not just that, no. He wants something like in the books, wants someone who feels for him with such burning passion, looks at him like he is the galaxy and they are the stars. Wants someone to look at him as he would look at him, a heavy regard with no room for hesitation. Something simple in its complexity.) _

Until finally she reached his favorite book, his morals books.

She looked at it a long time, face black as she flipped through the well-loved pages.

“Why do you have this.” Winter looked at her for a moment before looking back at his book. “I do not remember anything from Before, they took many things from me, Hydra did. I want to be good, not bad, but I do not understand morals. What are they? Which are good? And so I learn.”  _ (Winter feels like an Old Dog learning new tricks, he doesn't understand, not always, but he's trying, and that's ok) _

Black Widow looked at him, searching for something, he knew not what. Whatever she found must have satisfied her, as the rest of the plane ride was in silence.

* * *

Consider this.

Winter is brought before shield, in a glass box meant to contain monsters, and he is questioned. Winter has learned from his book that lying is bad, and so he doesn’t. Anything they ask is answered truthfully or not answered at all.

When the questions are done he makes one simple request “May I have my morals book?”  _ (‘May I have my scarf’, he wants to ask, ‘May I have my comforts?’ But he has learned, that asking for things is punishable, is a mistake. It has been years since Hydra but abuse doesn’t just fade and he is still learning, still scared, a scarred wolf limping in the snow, waiting for the shot from the hunters to end him. Fighting, fighting, fighting, but still terrified of the crunch of boots on snow that signals his once owners.”) _

They give him his morals book and he sits in silence and re-reads the book over and over again.

In another room, the Avengers and Nick Fury watch him in quiet disbelief. This quiet man was supposed to be the heartless killer Winter Soldier?

They didn’t know what to do as they watched Winter read his book. 

* * *

They let him out with the conditions he became an Avenger, something Winter was unprepared for but accepting of, and that he go to counseling, something he is willing to try. _(Unless they try to Chain him down again, then he'll leave, a ghost as usual.)_

He wanted to be good.

He met them all, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, Clint, and Steve who was watching him in disbelief.

“Bucky?”

Winter frowned, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

And so the truth came out, as it is wont to do.

* * *

Consider this.

Winter lives in the Avengers Tower with Tony Stark. Unused to everything, he seeks him out. The one person who doesn't treat him like a child, as an enemy, or like someone who needs to change.

Tony who is working on BARF is too busy to notice Jarvis letting Winter in.

Winter marvels at the future, a new romance novel held in his hand. He sits on the floor beside Tony’s desk, cracks open his book and gets lost in the words as much as Tony is lost in his schematics. _(He was always fascinated by the Future, he knows a little is from Before, but most of it comes now. After seeing the changes to the world as they happen, he loves to look as the Future is being built.)_

* * *

Consider this.

“Why are you here!?”

“I wished to spend time with you, I find your company more enjoyable compared to the others. You do not mind that I am Winter and not Bucky.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?? I could have brought you a chair or something Freezer-burn, jeez!”

“I am ok sitting here, I do not require a chair. Would you like to hear about my Romance novel, A day in the Woods?”

“-sigh- You know what? Sure Deep Freeze, let me hear it”

* * *

Consider this.

Two men wanting to be good are brought together from unlikely circumstances, different but similar, they become fast friends. Maybe in the future lovers? Maybe not.

Winter is happy, a well-worn book always on his person as he learns to be good.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guess what i made another chapter!! I know!! I'm! A! Fucking! Idiot!!!  
> Will i finish this? Who knows!!  
> Do i enjoy writing this? Debatable!!  
> Anyway enjoy this little blarb of awkward Winter and Tony Realizing that yeah, emotions are a thing yay!

Winter had few pleasures, few likes, few wants. Even though he knew _(he did know he did but he still could barely allow himself to Want, all he has known was Need, all he has allowed himself, been allowed by his owners, was scraps of necessity to get by. He is doing good, he is better.)_ that he could want and he wouldn't be punished by it.

_(be frozen, frozen, ice cold, left with his thoughts, "sensory deprivation" is what he learned it is called, he still remembers the way time passed in the Cryo, years or a second passed by, being left alone, screaming-screaming-screaming wiped)_

Winter has few pleasures, but he still has them. His baby blue scarves, softer than anything he has ever felt, worn down and holey, but still keeping him warm, still operating right, he feels a 'connection' to his scarves, the way they were thrown away after the first wear and tear.

He understand not being good enough.

His lumpy yellow pillow, stained and thrown away. It fits his arm perfectly, elevating it and keeping it warm. 

Absolutely perfect. 

He can barely stand to touch the soft _(so soft, too soft, he feels as if his skin is crawling, like he is overheating but oh so cold, he can't, not yet, he can't, he feels as if he will explode, as if he will crumble down into a pile of sobbing dust)_ pillows that cover his bed, downy covers too much for his skin, it's all so soft. 

_(He cried the first time he touched it, great heaving sobs that jerked him with every breath, making his arm hurt even more. He planted his face on the bed, kneeling as if to a god, and cried.)_

He sleeps underneath the bed. One lumpy pillow for his arm, one holey blanket for his legs, and two scarves, one wrapped around his arm, the other around his mouth. 

He has never felt so safe.

* * *

He read once _(he doesn't quite know where, maybe in that small town in Russia, on the clunky computer that was centuries old and barely functioned, that made a click-click-whirr noise every time something was loading, or maybe in a yellowed book that was stained and smelt like old water, the words smeared but still readable.)_ that if you love something long enough, hard enough, that if you take good care of it, a soul will be born and take residence in that thing.

_(He doesn't know what or who loved him enough to give him a soul, maybe it was Steve who was stuck in that ice for so long or maybe Steve was just a catalyst, maybe he loved himself in the past and remade himself now, maybe he gave himself a soul.)_

He loves his scarves, his pillow, his books. He loves his suitcase that is grey and always damp, he loves the bed he can't touch, and he loves himself. He gave himself a name, because he has a soul and everything deserves a name. 

To be nameless is something terrifying, something deep and endless that wants to suck you up, to eat you and leave you a husk. Something made of dying stars and newborn black holes, made of the space in between dying galaxies and words without meaning. It doesn't have a name and it doesn't want you to have on either. Terrifying in its endlessness but comforting in its predictability.

This Thing haunts him every step of the way, whispering, slinking up to him, asking asking "Who are you, what are you, your not a person, your a weapon, your nothing" he doesn't want that for the things he loves.

So he named his things in his head at first then when he met the avengers, when he made a friend (?) In Tony, he asked for his first thing. 

"May I have a label maker, please." 

* * *

When he asked Tony, he was expecting a "maybe" or even a "no" not a excited yes. He didn't understand why Tony was so excited, maybe he understood Name's like him. 

Winter thought about FRIDAY and the love Tony clearly had for her, and decides that he did know Names like Winter. 

In the end Winter god his Label Maker and Tony got a small smile, almost completely hidden by his scarf, it showed one of his canines and was crookedly cute. It seemed to light up his whole face.

Winter didn't notice the light blush Tony wore, and even if he did, he wouldn't have understood it. Not yet at least.

Winter went back to his room, took his scarves, pillow, and blanket from under the bed, preparing the Label Maker was easy as he read the directions. 

Sitting cross legged, he named each thing, feeling immensely proud of himself.

* * *

It was quiet, but it was always quiet when Winter was around, conversation seemingly dying when he arrived only to start up again when he left, whispers following him out. 

He doesn't understand why they dislike him so, he has done nothing wrong according to his books on "How to make friends: For Dummies." 

**Step 1: show up at the designated spot with other people.**

He shows up in the common room, walking out of the elevator. Lang, Sam Wilson, and Tony are there. Lang is talking to someone on the phone, Wilson is reading, and Tony is working on blueprints. 

**Step 2: find someone who has interests like you.**

Sam is reading. Winter enjoys reading. 

**Step 3: introduce yourself and ask about interest**

Walking towards Sam he did as instructed 

"Hello. I am Winter, I enjoy reading, what are you reading?"

Sam looked up quickly, looked down again, before doing a double take. Slowly he says, as if testing the waters. 

". . . Hello, I'm Sam. I'm reading a book 'bout mechanics." Sam was quiet, as if contemplating something for a moment before sighing and asking, "What're you reading?"

Winter was surprised, no one but Tony ever wanted to hear about his books. It took him a moment to respond, trying to think of a good way to construct his sentence.

"I am reading a book on how to become friends with someone," as he said this he showed the book in his hand to Sam, whose face was screwed up in what Winter could understand was sadness, he didn't know what he did to make Sam sad but he hurried to explain why he has a Friend Book. "My Therapist said that i "shouldn't isolate myself from my peers", since it would be detrimental to my health to be by myself. I tried to explain to her that no one seemed to enjoy my company but she said it was because I haven't introduced myself properly. So I asked FRIDAY to help me and she gave me this book."

It was quite after he explained himself, and he wondered if he explained to much, he didn't understand when to stop talking or when to start. Lang and Tony where both looking at him with sadness, he didn't understand what he did wrong. _(Sometimes he wished he was still with Hydra just so that he could understand what he did wrong, as they punished him when he was wrong. This thought came less and less as the years passed and he became accustomed to making mistakes. "It is ok to want the familiar," he could hear His Therapist say. " As long as it doesn't consume you.")_

"Am I," Wilson's voice was rough and be coughed before continuing, Winter wondered if he had a cold, he decided to buy cold medicine just in case. "Am I your first friend?"

Winter thought about this, eyes narrowed as he reached up to play with the frayed ends of Sally, the scarf around his mouth and nose, it was as close to fidgeting as he could get, his body otherwise loose in papardness to move.

"No." He decided after a while of thinking, to the visible surprise of everyone in the room. "My first friend was a 10 year old homeless girl named Vanya, I met her in Russia when I lived in Moscow. She taught me many things, like how Santa Claus is real, but that adults can't see him because they're usually naughty, that it's okay not to know how to read very fast as long as you are good at something else. She also taught me many games, such as Patty Cake and London Bridges Falling Down. I had a lot of fun learning these things, I had never "played" before. I left her my favorite knife when i had to leave."

"You talked with the homeless when you lived in Moscow? You didn't just sulk around all murdery?" Lang expressed his disbelief, his phone call apparently ended as Winter talked. 

"Yes, i enjoyed their presence. They were very nice, and every night they would thank me for the rabbits and such I hunted and cooked for them, I had never been thanked before. They also enjoyed the broken board games and card games i would find for them, we played them much. They did not mind that I didn't understand much and they helped me learn Morals." 

Sam spoke up again before anyone else could, seemingly realizing that Winter didn't know if he should continue. "So am I you're second friend?"

Again Winter thought about this, much shorter than before. "No Tony is my second friend. He lets me sit in his Laboratory, does not get mad when i sit on the floor or when I'm really quite, and he even gave me a bed. He is very nice." 

Lang and Sam looked to Tony who didn't seem to know what to do. Winter looked at the couch, trying to decide if he could sit on it today or if it would be a floor day, but before he could decide he heard voices coming this way. 

One of them sounded like Steve's.

Something heavy slid into his chest, weighing down his shoulders and constricting his breathing. He showed no signs that he was panicking, his metal fingers clenched slightly at Sally2, wrapped around his arm as she was. 

All he could think about was sad eyes and the name Bucky. He had to go. This outing was a success.

"I'm leaving now, goodbye." As he said this, he made his way to the elevator, energy suddenly gone. He just wanted to lay down under his bed and sleep. 

He left to the sounds of confusion as he went inside the elevator, Steve's confused "Bucky?" Following him to his room and nipping at his heels, he couldn't sleep, eyes wide as he stared at the brown wood above him. 

\----

He still keeps everything in his suitcase, a grey damp things with one lock broken and the handle stretched out. He named it John, and he pats it everytime he needs something from it.

He keeps it under his bed, just above where his head lays. It's comforting knowing that everything he loves surrounds him, easily defendable and in grabbing reach. 

He doesn't talk to anyone for two days, doesn't leave his room until FRIDAY tells him everyone is asleep or not where he wants to be, he needs to recharge so that he can talk to Tony again without being thrown into a Panic. 

He is ok. 

He skips the Team Meals those two days, usually he goes and eats something bland, his stomach still not used to food that the Team enjoys, he stands somewhat away from everyone, not really understanding what he did wrong but knowing that he did do something Bad. He tried sitting at the table once, but everyone was quiet and uncomfortable, and the talking didn't start until he left. 

He stands by the wall now, far enough away that the Team isn't uncomfortable but close enough to still be at the Table so no one will complain.

He enjoys eating with Tony much more, Tony doesn't mind that he enjoys eating bland oatmeal and grits more than "normal" food, or that he sits on the ground more than in chairs or other furniture, or that he never talks that much and enjoys listening more. 

_(He Enjoys things, he had gotten better. He needed, then wanted, and now he enjoys. Sometimes he doesn't know what to do, the things he enjoys seem bland compared to others but those days are over fast. He can't watch action movies and when something startles him he shoots first, but he's getting better.)_

Tony is very nice. 

_(He remembers, Tony said something or maybe he did something, and it was so funny to Winter, so astonishingly humorous that he does something he has never done before, he laughs. He laughs so hard, his chest hurts and his eyes water, and he snorts with every inhale. His eyes squint shut and his mouth is open wide enough to hurt and he doesn't know how to stop. This is his fondest memory in the After Moscow period.)_

\----

The first time Tony ever met the Winter Soldier it was when he was locked in a glass cage made for monsters. He remembers the way Winter asked for one thing only, even when he noticed that Winter's metal hand shook slightly from the cold, he remembers the 

_"May I have my Morals Book"_

the reverence that was barely hidden in that sentence. The care he showed to the book, the slow way he turned every page and smoothed out the wrinkles. 

That was the first time he ever met Winter and he knew that this man wasn't evil, wasn't filled with hate or blood lust.

He was just a man trying to find himself, lost in his own head and drowning under the weight of Freedom but still swimming onwards.

The second time he met Winter was when he was on a building binge, thoughts only focused on calculation and science and not on his Baby Girl letting an assassin into his workspace. 

He only realized when hours had passed, his mind lifting from the haze of accomplishment as he looked around, finding the Soldier on the floor leaning against his desk, a clearly well loved book in his hand, brown eyes lidded and laser focused on the book, his face and arm still hidden by the blue scarves that are dirty and tattered.

He doesn't remember the entire conversation, just the calm way he expressed his discomfort with Steve, with the Team, the slight wonder in his tone when he said he wanted to stay beside Tony, the light spark of hope that somehow still grew inside this remade man.

He remembers asking about his book, surprisingly a romance novel, he remembers the way Show-flake lit up, the way he talked and talked about his book and the others he owns, the way the words fell out of him like a waterfall that was being held back by a dam, rushing and beautiful. 

Who was Tony to send Freezer-Burn away when he was so puppy-ish in his excitement, so joyful to have someone show interest in his interests. 

After that encounter Winter comes almost everyday, he talks about his therapist (Doctor. Struffson) and the new things he learns from her every session, he talks about his friends in Moscow, the things he learned from his books. He talks about how he and Vanya would stay up every christmas to see Santa, how he was convinced he wouldn't be able to see him because he was a Bad Adult, how Vanya promised him that he was Good and that he would see Santa. 

Winter is still quite, still cold in his way of talking, not knowing when to start or where to stop, over explaining or not explaining at all. His sharp eyes are unnerving on his bad days, he looks like a wolf that would rather tear your throat out then let you walk past him, wild and thin and hurt. 

On those days he stares at the ceiling of his workroom, quite and blank eyes, that is if he even leaves his room. Some days he stays in there, not eating or going to the bathroom, still and sightless, looking like a doll.

Tony worries on those days, he has FRIDAY watch Freezer-burn, his babygirl so digilant in her role. On those days he can't work, too worried, wanting to help but not knowing what to do.

He doesn't realise how compromised he is towards Winter until he sees him laugh for the first time. He doesn't know what he said or did, and he doesn't care too memorised by the sight before him, he feels like a dehydrated man seeing an oasis. Winter's dark eyes, usually filled with something painful, are squinted shut, his scarf is slightly loose and he can see the way Winter's mouth curves as he laughs, sharp canines flashing in the low light, a threat that isn't threatening when Tony remembers the man that has those canines. 

His laugh is low and breathy, like it's being punched out of him, small little snorts burst out of him everytime he breathes in, his body shook with the force of his laugh, it is the most glorious thing he has ever seen. The light falls just right on him, illuminating just how fucked Tony is. 

He isn't even mad.

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in a nutshell-  
> Winter: Tony is really nice he treats me w/ human decency. What a novel concept, hope that won't awaken anything in me.  
> Sam and Lang: wtf wtf What The Fuck this boy. This boy is too sad we have ta adopt him, protect him wtf  
> Tony: fascinating when i'm around Winter my heart rate goes up and i would literally die for him i wonder what this mea- oh fuck  
> Steve: i wonder why the person i haven't seen in around 70 years and who has been a POW for all those years is avoiding me when all i want to do is have the old him back
> 
> Anyway i feel as if everytime i end a chapter i could literally just say this story is done, like does anyone else get those finished undertones?? I feel as if i'm writing a book of short stories . . .
> 
> HMU @ my tumblr stephano-the-swords-woman


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this ?? A new ?? Chapter ?? A ?? Year ?? Later ?? Yeah bitches it's me, the author, bet y'all weren't expecting this! What am i saying of course you where i gushed abt it in every comment lol, anyway enjoy or whatever ig haha

When Winter was still Hydra, before he was even Winter, when he was just It, a thing that was owned and used up, he remembered having a preference. _(He thinks sometimes that maybe this preference is what led him to where he is now, free, alive, happy. That this slight want, this leaf burning slightly, buried deep under the dirt of conditioning, is what sparked the bonfire that moved him.)_

He remembered that when given a choice, a chance, he would always pick one gun in particular. A white Marksman, scuffed and dirty, he would pick it every time. He doesn't know why exactly that gun in particular called out to him, maybe it was the color white, maybe it was the scruffiness, or maybe he was just comfortable in using it. 

That rifle was the first thing he considered his, when he escaped his prison, the old trigger finally broke when he shot it for the last time. He left it there with the other broken and useless bodies of Hydra.

His one regret when he left Hydra behind, is that he left his first companion behind. _(In the blind panic of breaking 70 years of conditioning he grabbed the first few things he could think of, food, clothes, and weapons. He didn't really look at what he grabbed, he just snatched it and left.)_

Now that he lives in the Tower, he has a choice on many things. He still wears black, eats bland, and doesn't ask for much. Sometimes he will eat a plum, when he is feeling excited or more happy than usual. _(A good day in therapy, a good dream, no flashbacks, talking to Tony, making New Friends, and more deserve one plum to be eaten. Sometimes he even eats a plum when he is not feeling so happy.)_

* * *

His arm is hurting more than usual today. 

Normally he can ignore the way the arm grinds into his stump and tears at the scar tissue, slow enough for the serum to heal but fast enough for there not to be any relief. But today the arm must need a repair or maybe he is just tired today, and can't block out the pain like he usually does.

These hypotheses' does not change the fact that his arm hurts. 

He sits on the carpeted floor (a dark beige color, also very soft) and opens John, after lightly patting him, and takes out his small pouch of tools he uses for his arm. Things he found in the Apartment, in the Mechanical Shop, and in Moscow. Little bits and bobs. 

Some of them are rusty, broken in some places and in others. The only things in his pouch that looks somewhat clean is the army knife Old Man gave him, a few days before shield came. _(He remembers Old Man coming to him where he sat near the wall of the bridge, he was reading as Old Man hobbled over and sat down. A slight frown on his lips Old Man handed over the Army Knife. "I know a soldier when I see one, you've got a lot of baggage. Don't worry so much no? You'll be fine in the long end of things." Old Man patted the hand that curled around the knife, his frown smaller than normal. "Just remember, you'll always have a place here with us.")_

He puts everything back in the pouch, closes it carefully and makes his way to Tony's lab. From his understanding, mechanical work belongs in Labs, unless you have a doctorate.

* * *

He makes his way there, arm limp at his side.

In his other hand he holds the small brown pouch, he doesn't want to run into anyone so he hides and sulks his way through the hallways. His arm pulses with the slow beat of his heart, everytime it moves the pulses get harder and harder to ignore. _(He feels like warm rust is running through his joints, electric fire through his mechanical veins, a knife is his muscles and nails clanking in the cavities between wires. He wants it off, wants it offoffoff, his stump is being shredded ever so slowly warm rivers of blood filling his arm up and he's drowning)._

He's in the warm lab, Tony standing in front of multiple screens, oil and other such liquids are covering his hands, his tank top, his everything. _(Winter wants to sit down and watch as Tony creates, and creates, and creates, but maybe later when he doesn't feel like he should cut his arm off like a trapped fox chews their leg off.)_

Half ferel from pain and flashbacks of cold cold cold winters and hot hot hot shoulders, he sits himself in his corner and opens his bag. He uncrews the arm and mechanically starts disconnecting it from his shoulder. The white flashes of pain he gets from doing this is almost as worse as the arm rubbing his shoulder raw.

Finally it's off and it clunks to the floor disconnected and unresponsive, Winter almost blacks out from the relief he feels.

_(His arm is always causing him pain, too heavy, too cold, too sharp, he feels it when it's hot outside, when it's cold, when he sleeps, when he's awake. A wolf with a bear trap on it's forepaw but still walking, he's no fox he can't just cut it off.)_

He briefly closes his eyes and leans against the wall, his good hand comes out and moves the arm to his lap, his legs stretched out and for the first time he can remember he feels relaxed. 

He takes Sally2 and clumsily wraps it around Sally, then leans back against the wall and decides to take a nap. 

He'll work on his arm in a bit.

\----

Tony doesn't know how long it's been since he first started inventing and now but he's pretty sure that a sleeping Winter Wonderland wasn't there for the beginning. Or at least he's a little sure, ok he's not sure at all but whatever the point still stands that Winter is sleeping in a corner of his Lab and he doesn't usually do that.

"FRIDAY baby what am I looking at here, did Winter fall asleep without me knowing, what's happening here talk to me."

"Sir it seems that Winter's arm was bothering him more than usual today, I noticed him making his way here and assumed he would ask for your assistance. Instead he took the arm off himself and then proceeded to go to sleep."

On one hand Tony wanted to know when Snowflake got so close to his Baby that she calls him by his first name and not Mr. Soldier or whatever but on the OTHER hand, Winter is sleeping in his Lab with his arm off.

To wake him or not too, that is the question.

As Tony ponders the moral and logical points to waking up a dangerous assassin, he absent mindedly observes the man. 

The fluorescent lights do no one any wonders but somehow Winter makes it work, pale skin framed by dark hair, half his face covered by the scarves. His face is relaxed, from what can be seen, his legs stretched out and arm at his side, this is one of few times Tony has ever seen Winter so relaxed. 

As the bright lights illuminate Winter and his relaxed posture all Tony can think about is how absolutely beautiful Winter is.

* * *

Winter wakes to the uncomfortable feeling of being watched but when he opens his eyes and sees it's just Tony the tension leaves his shoulders slightly.

They look at each other for a moment before Tony seems to snap out of whatever tangent he's currently thinking about.

"So Snowflake, whatcha doing lurking in this corner of my humble abode, almost scared the death outta me. I could have died, you know, my heart is not what it used to be!"

"My arm hurts more than normal. It needed maintenance. So I took it off, I will work on it now."

Winter moved his remaining arm towards his tools, but before he could even get started Tony started talking again. He stopped and listened, giving all his attention to the man in front of him.

_(He didn't want Tony to think he was ignoring him)_

"Wait wait wait wait Winter Wonderland, just one moment!! Are you telling me you came into the workshop of the most genius inventor and tinker and didn't even for one second think 'they might be better at this then me'?! I'm insulted! I'm flabbergasted! And above all! I'm deeply hurt!" Here Tony moved his hands to cup above his heart, he moved back from his chair as if struck before going back to his normal seating position and continuing on, Winter half smiled behind Sally in amusement. "Now then good sir! Come sit over here so i can help you with that mechanical problem you got there! Maybe i'll even make you a new one! Maybe with the stark logo! MY Personal Logo! And i could add a knife! Multiple Knives! No wait!! Wait! A FLAMETHROWER!"

"I do not require a flamethrower." As Winter said this a brow quirked in amusement as he moved closer to Tony.

Tony waved his hands around him in denial as he got the tool ready in front of him, seemingly absentmindedly he muttered "Require Smequire, your so getting 5 hidden knives Jack Frost, and there's nothing you can do to stop me from adding a flamethrower, or more knives, or maybe-"

As Tony continued on the same vein of "how many deadly weapons can i add to Winter's deadly arm before it becomes TO MUCH" Winter couldn't help but wonder why exactly someone as amazing as Tony wanted to hang around a feral Wolf like himself. 

As he pondered the continued existence of just how great Tony is, he sat down beside the man himself. As he laid the arm on the table he commented a quite "I trust you to work on it Tony, thank you. And I would love an arm made by you, you're really amazing. . ."

\----

For the rest of the day Tony worked on Winter's arm as Winter watched him, fascinated by the proficiency Tony showed. 

When the arm went back on it still kinda hurt, still rubbed his scars a little raw but it wasn't so cold anymore, it wasn't thrumming through his entire body, it was a relief. When he added Sally2 it almost felt like their wasn't any pain at all, like he was floating on cloud 9 and couldn't get down. 

He played with his new 5 knives, one on each knuckle except his thumb and the last one was in a panel he could move and throw. 

This was the best thing anyone has ever given him, ever. The relief from the arm no longer hurting, the happiness from Tony building him something, Winter didn't know what to do. _(His chest hurt, he felt like he was about to burst from too much. Just. Too much. He wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to hug Tony, he wanted to try out his new knives. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted)_

He re-focased on Tony in the middle of his sentence, the euphoria still singing in his veins.

". . . - really Winter, those assholes have no idea how to build shit! I'm still surprised that hunk of junk even still works! What with the wires crossed and the heating problem and the cooling problem and the weight problem AND don't even get me started on how it fucking rubs your shoulder raw rea- ack!"

Winter knew it was rude to interrupt people but he couldn't hold himself back _(like a tsunami, the relief pushed him into Tony wildly, unrelentingly, he couldn't stop himself)_ , he pushed his face into Tony's neck as he squeezed Tony in his arms, a squawk came from Tony as he did so.

"Thank you," Winter whispered. "Thank you so much. . ."

All Tony could do was pay Winter's back as the man held on to him like a monkey (like a priest to salvation, a starving man to food, desperate and grateful and relieved).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok 1. I hope i wrote Tony right lol, this was hard. Anyway love comments, love you, yes you specifically reading this right now, i'm in live w/ you lets get dinner.
> 
> Anyway if you want to like, spew ideas at me hmu on Tumblr @stephano-the-swords-woman or you can comment i mean, either way i'm writing a paragraph to answer you so..


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi yes i still exist 😔😔

Something changed after that encounter.

Something inside Winter sat up, started paying attention to Tony when before it lightly dozed in his presence _(the gaze of a wolf is a heady thing, focused and unwavering in its intensity. He feels as if he has awoken from a light nap, he has lifted dark shades from his eyes and can now see when before he was blind)_. Or maybe the instincts inside of himself were always paying attention, and he has just now noticed. 

Before Tony helped him, before someone other than Winter saw his own weaknesses and didn't use it against him, he didn't really trust Tony. Sure he thought that they were friends, that they had an understanding of each other, in the way big predators and small predators do. 

Now things are . . . different.

Now he can ask questions about the things he and FRIDAY don't understand. 

Now he can talk to Tony about wants and needs and things and names and what that all means to Winter, to the world, to Tony.

Before he didn't understand why his skin itches sometimes, why he would wake up and feel so  _ alone,  _ his skin felt like it was crawling and he needed to touch  _ something _ but what.  _ (Laying awake staring at the springs of the mattress above him he can't feel anything but the itchiness. Like bugs are crawling on him, in him, bursting out of his skin like ripe tomato seeds. He doesn't move, he can't. He's stuck until it passes, he remembers ice and snow and pain and blood and that forgetful yearning for who he is after every wipe, that black space between dying stars that stole his name and who is he!? Bugs crawl on him, in him, as he lays in a snowbank and wonders, will this be the end?) _

Now he can touch Tony, hang off his back as he works, lay his head on his lap, close his eyes and have a careful hand run through his hair as he breaths in the smell of motor oil, grease, and sweat  _ (it's hazy when he does this, the room warm and bright and just hazy, his head stuffed full of something slow and heavy. His body is relaxed, even more so once Tony starts running stained fingers through his tangled hair. He feels so heavy and soft and he thinks this is what contentment feels like, what happiness tastes like) _ .

This new form of freedom is heady in its addictiveness and Tony hasn't said stop, hasn't shown discomfort, or any other negative emotion as far as Winter can see and sense, and so he continues touching, and laying, and asking  _ (he doesn't know which one is more additive, the way he can touch and ask and speak and not get punished or the way that Tony just lets him, only babbling and waving and being a storm caught in motion, but never stopping him) _ .

Winter pushes onwards through this new environment, like a wolf in a snowstorm, he continues forwards with no resistance.

* * *

Days, weeks, months, a year passed again. It's been 2 years since After Hydra and 1 year since Shield, and Winter is much better than before. He's still learning, still more wolf than human, but no longer an ill fitted machine bursting through it's poorly stitched together human skin. 

He is still talking to his Psychiatrist, still learning about feelings and wants and needs.  _ (He wakes up everyday with what feels like a new feeling in his head, under his skin, everyday. He's bursting at the seams with new thoughts and experiences, he's a waterfall overflowing into a too full lake and he doesn't know if that's okay) _

He's learning emotions through color, learning what others think a color means then putting his own memories and feelings to it. He's getting better and better at this exercise, today it's red and blue.

For red he thinks of pomegranate slick lips when Tony tried the seeds with him, of painted lips on small bodies in a blood colored room in a cold country. He thinks of the hot feeling of wet blood on his split knuckles, the heady deep rush he feels right before he pulls the trigger, the satisfaction of a good hunt, the glistening of Iron Man and the hot air that blows by and the safety he feels as Tony comes back to the lab after a mission. 

He thinks of yelling handlers and their ripe tomato faces, the feeling of something hot like a burning inferno in a dry forest when he thinks of Hydra. He thinks of lips pulled back over teeth in Tony's lab, the farthest thing from a threat. He thinks of hot afternoons and burning skin. He thinks of passion, of hatred, of anger, of fighting and fighting and fighting for something he doesn't believe in. He thinks of the rush of adrenaline as he escaped. He thinks of love and burning and never staying down, of stubbornness and hot wounds that heal even hotter.

For blue he thinks of the first time he felt rain instead of snow, the cold warm soft sharp feeling against his snow hardened skin, as he opened his arms to the sky and felt this new experience beating harmlessly against his slick body. He thinks of tears after nightmares and warm showers instead of cold ones. He thinks of freezing ice and losing time, the hot cold of the chair. Of his ice chip eyes when he's mad or lake eyes when he's happy. He thinks of Tony and the time he helped Winter remember how to dance to swing music like he supposedly used to. He thinks of clear skies on cold days in the wilderness. He thinks of not feeling his fingers as he walked and walked before his healing kicked in. He thinks of wonder, of sadness, of loyalty. He thinks of calmness inside a storm, of whirlwinds that come and go, of safety, of closing his eyes and sleeping.

_ (He thinks of Tony about how he connects the two colors, the emotions always circling back to him. He thinks that maybe in this one thing Hydra was right, to those he claims as his, his to protect, his to have, he becomes a sheep dog, instead of a vicious wolf snapping, he is a dog barking. Herding them to safety away from enemies.) _

He remembers and feels all these things as he writes down every detail he can remember, his sentences run on and become winding in there formation. He thinks about showing Tony his view, of remembering with him the pomegranate seeds on the roof with the sun on top of them. Of Winter's awe of how sweet it tasted, of the jokes and the thrown seeds, and the juice on their shirts and fingertips and palms, running down their arms in a mockery of bloody rivers. 

He thinks about asking if he remembers twirling around and around in a dim lit lab, desks moved to the side as they looked at each other and listened to the music and laughed with the steps. He thinks about how they stepped on each other's feet and how they fumbled with their hands as they turned and dipped and picked-up. Of how the low lights made the room hazy, the smooth swing music in the background and they looked at each other and danced badly to the old music. 

He thinks of these new memories and how they fit in with the colors and the overflowing waterfall pumps out with more and more water as he scribbles away.

He thinks and wonders if Tony has these thoughts crystallized in his head like Winter, if on bad days and bad nights he picks apart the memories and brings up the favorite parts. Snap shots of smiles and seeds and bad dancing and low lights. Of hugs and high fives and soft words and gifts and eating together.

_ (He wonders if Tony has the same fanatical loyalty that he does, a packless wolf stumbling upon a prideless panther and thinking 'yes, this is what i'm missing.') _

* * *

He sits in the common room more often, a book that Friday recommended in one hand and Sally 2 in the other. He doesn't do it often but his Therapist said he needs to get used to people in a safe controllable environment. So here he is, in the common room, in the common room chair.

_ (He'd much rather be with Tony, maybe he can listen to the mechanic groan about high tech computer stuff and other such things he doesn't understand.)  _

It's not that he's afraid of them or that he thinks they'll try to give him back to Hydra. It's just that they'll never really understand that he doesn't  _ feel guilty _ over the many deaths Hydra forced him to cause. Winter regrets killing them, he regrets pulling the trigger, but he doesn't feel guilty or anything else towards the nameless dead people. He mostly regrets being controlled into it.

He doesn't remember that many, that might be why he doesn't feel anything towards the ones he does, after so many wipes and so many kills the faces run together. Or maybe he has always been like this, he doesn't know what Past Him was like, all he knows is that the Soldat was born in a chair.

His first steps lead to a gun, to the trigger, to death. His first word's "mission accomplished". Winter knows no different, a stitched together man who's more wolf than human. More beast than man, and the wild doesn't feel guilt over a kill. It's you or them and that's how Soldat lived, how Winter still lives, even if he hides it better.

_ (He doesn't wake up in a cold sweat at night remembering those kills, he doesn't feel satisfaction or pleasure or anything. He's as cold as a russian winter towards the dead, he gets a faint impression that he never prolonged their death unless ordered too, and even then he gave them injuries that would kill them quickly. A small defiance even then.) _

That's the reason why he's so quick to leave  _ (run away) _ when Steve appears, he always says it's "not his fault" and he "couldn't stop it", and Winter knows this. He knows he couldn't have gone against the handlers, he doesn't feel guilt or sadness or anything like that. Just regret he couldn't escape fast enough.

He hasn't told his Therapist this, knows that it's not "normal", knows its a cause for concern, but it's not for him. He has felt like this all his known life, he feels happiness and sadness and anger, just not towards the dead.

It's just how he is.

* * *

He knows that Tony and the others are raiding Hydra bases, he knows because he is the one giving them the information, every base code, every location that's burned in his brain. Every face and name that he can recall flows out of his mouth like an uncontrollable natural disaster, destroying Hydra lives one base at a time.

They won't let him come, he understands that they think he's a flight hazard. He's not but nothing he says will convince them otherwise so he stopped trying. He wants to fight, wants to aim and shoot and watch as his enemies fall. Wants to be there as Tony wrecks havoc on them, he wants to watch as Tony blows up base after base. Feel the heat of Justice and Revenge against his skin as the building burns in front of him.

Winter mostly wants to do missions again for the simple sake of doing them. He doesn't want to go back to Hydra no, he doesn't want to do what they say when they say it. He just wants the thrill of a hunt, the satisfaction when all the pieces come together, the anticipation as his finger hovers over the trigger as he looks threw a scope four blocks away. 

He doesn't love killing people, doesn't go out of his way to murder civilians, but he doesn't hate it either. Winter is more interested in the hunt of the Target, of finding information and putting a plan together and watching as it unfolds perfectly. 

_ (Winter knows that the others would be disgusting with him, they would question him, and look at him as if he is broken. But the thrill he gets when, like a wolf chasing down a rabbit, he finishes a mission is a consistent feeling that he knows he has always had. Knowing the Target deserves it makes the rabbit even sweeter on the back of his tongue.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winter: Someone . . . Cares . . . For Me?? Hnnng my EmOtIOnS,,,,,,,, I Am Feel ??? 
> 
> Tony (not in this but in the background): is this flirting?? Is he flirting with me??? Or is this just emotionally suppressed trauma coming out bc i pet him?? 
> 
> The Therapist (probably nvr getting a chap): i've had this patient for about a year, and if anything happened to him i would kill everyone and then myself.

**Author's Note:**

> SO I hope you like this lol, I like commas so there's a lot, also no one but Grammarly beta'd this so -_(0^0)_-
> 
> also, I loved the idea of Winter having a more, computer brain, like the reason he was able to keep it all together was that they made his brain computery? Or he did anyway...
> 
> also (THIS) is winter talking in case you didn't know lol, I tried to make to whereafter he broke the brainwashing he suddenly was able to think for himself easier!
> 
> Come check out my Tumblr! give me ideas or ask me question or just sulk around!  
> Stephano-the-swords-women


End file.
